


Reality Adjustment

by beef_wonder3



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: F/M, Spoilers, harley/joker is minor, relevant for timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7711333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beef_wonder3/pseuds/beef_wonder3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Suicide Squad (Major SPOILERS for Movie)</p><p>Harley makes a toast after the events of the movie really sink in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reality Adjustment

It was the chill of morning that woke her. Harley stirred, cringing away from the cold and curling into the warmth of the bed. But the damage was done and she was awake now, her own hair tangled across her face. She cracked her eyes open to the weak glare, silently stretching her toes. She smiled to herself and sighed softly, taking in the sight of Joker lying next to her, his hair, still tousled, looked radioactive in the morning light as he slept.  

Harley shifted and sat up, stretching carefully so as to not wake Joker, the coldness of the room a slap to her bare skin. She slipped out of bed and dug through the drawers. She pulled out her favorite pajamas, pink and fuzzy, and cuddled them before putting them on, doing up the plastic cartoon candies that served as buttons. It had been a while since she’d been comfortable.

Their room was a mess; a veritable war zone resulting from their reunion sex, an aftermath that made Harley want to giggle in delight. Her puddin’ had not only come back from the dead for her, but he rescued her from that nasty prison. Well, the new espresso machine had prettied the place up a bit, but still, her man had come for her and neither the guards nor the Devil Herself could stop them now.

Harley grabbed her brush and curled into the chair sat by the tall window. Untangling the knots in her hair, she looked out at the skyline. Gotham looked beautiful during a sunrise; the cloudy sky punched through with light as smoke began to curl from chimneys. Traffic was getting into full swing on Pioneer Bridge and Harley knew the noise of the city would wake up soon, to join the sound of the morning commute. The steel mill would begin its day and the men at the docks would clock in, while kids dragged themselves onto school buses and the hipster mom’s trying to gentrify The Bowery would push prams on their morning jog.

There was something about this city that got a hold of you, nasty and damp, it seeped into your bones in delicious and terrible ways. Harley stopped toying with her hair as her heart thumped, suddenly anxious and scared. There was almost no Gotham to come back to. Almost nothing, everywhere.

It had been easier than is nice to admit, to fall back into the routine on the inside. Routine had made it easier to ignore what had happened, what they had done. The gaping maw inside of her, thinking her puddin’ was gone, couldn’t have been real, because being inside, that’s not real life, not like it is outside. The things they’d seen in Midway, magic and madness and monsters, a swirling vortex of annihilation that they’d stopped destroying, well, everything? They stopped it. A bunch of no hope, bad guys had saved the world. And nobody would ever know that. Nobody would ever know the sacrifice he’d made, meaning the rest of them, and the world, could keep kicking on.

Harley sniffed suddenly, not realizing she had started to cry. Blinking harshly, she turned away from the window, looking at the trash on the table instead. Leftovers from celebrating. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, making sure Joker was still asleep, Harley, lined up five of the shot-glasses, scattered carelessly around the half-empty vodka bottle they’d abandoned. She poured the vodka into one of the glasses. Shot in hand, she turned back to the window, breathing over the cold glass to mist it. With her finger she wrote out his name on the glass—

_El diablo_

Harley clinked the glass against the window and toasted in a whisper,

“Redemption is a bitch.” She threw the shot back and swiped her palm through the writing. She placed the now empty shot glass back on the table and grabbed her new phone, the fluffy case spreading glitter between her fingers. She typed out the message quickly, hoping it wouldn’t go unanswered.

_Heya Red, what’s bloomin’? Boy, do I have some stories for u_

She added a few flower emojis for fun and sent it. Setting the phone down, Harley stood up and stretched again, rising onto her tippy-toes and rolling her shoulders. Her phone buzzed quietly at her and she leapt to pick it up again.

_When did you get back? I got a place on the east of Robinson’s Park. Tea at 8:30?_

Delighted, Harley texted back quickly, affirming that she’d be there and pirouetted over to the ornate wardrobe, the right door of which was still valiantly holding on by a single hinge.

What on earth was she going to wear?


End file.
